Dark Waltz of Glass Roses
by ShatteredAngelWings
Summary: [Spoiler for GoF] Agitha Rattlestone hates Viktor Krum for ruining her peace and quiet in the library and hates the way girls flock around him. Viktor Krum's eye is caught by this fiery Slytherin with black hair and a strange ballet hobby. V/OC
1. Chapter 1

Act 1

_Valse somber _

* * *

"WILL YOU SHUT up?" hisses a voice and the gaggle of girls in the Hogwarts library freeze, gaping at the other girl. "Some of us are _trying _to read," she grumbles, flipping her wildly curly hair over her shoulder. "Honestly, if I met that stupid Viktor Krum…" she trails off, shaking her head as her head drops back down. "Excuse me but did you call me?"

The Viktor Krum fan club starts to squeal excitedly and Agitha Rattlestone slams her Potions book down sharply, the loud bang echoing in the silence of the library. "I will hex you so you vomit slugs! Like Ron Weasley!" she snarls. "Ron Veasley?" asks the boy's voice.

"Yes, you blundering git! Remember? Malfoy pissed Ron off as usual and when he went to jinx Malfoy, it backfired on him," she snaps and turns on her heel, bumping into a round-shouldered boy with unwavering grey eyes. Viktor Krum, Bulgarian International Quidditch player, is standing behind her, his long black hair framing his sharp, hard-lined face; his long, straight nose slightly bruised—probably from another Quidditch match or maybe he's been stupid enough to bump into a wall—and his eyes lock on hers. "I'm afraid I do not know vot you mean," he says in his thick Bulgarian accent.

"Of course _you _don't! You were in Bulgaria!" she says and closes her book with a loud smack. "And I doubt you even know how to be quiet and not attract attention," she adds in a soft, hushed voice as she glares at the fan girls squealing rather loudly. "Vot do you mean?" Krum asks in a chillingly dark tone and, in his stone-colored eyes, is a small spark of anger.

"I _mean _I don't appreciate you coming here every single day while I try to study and your fan club screams in my ear." She pushes in her chair, letting it run into the table with clanking noise, and pushes her hair away from her face. "I don't see why everyone is so obsessed with you; why, if you weren't famous, I doubt they'd even spare you a second glance."

She hoists her bag over her shoulder and tucks her Potions book into it, nestled between a notebook and a weathered wallet. He blinks at her with the capacity of an infant, his eyes looking gargoyle-grey in the shafts of light streaming in through the windows. "Maybe you'd like to find out," he says in a thick voice before he turns and stalks off.

Agitha rolls her eyes, snarls at the third-year girls, and walks out. She's barely out of the library when she hears a growling voice scream "Stop!" She looks into the courtyard to find "Mad-Eye" Moody hobbling across the field to Potter, Weasley and Granger; Goyle and Crabbe crouching down beside a shivering white weasel.

There's something wrong with Moody; he looks thinner than she's seen him and he seems a bit shakier. His magical blue eye swivels to her and stares as he points his wand at the weasel. There's more squealing as it's lifted into the air, obviously in pain and humiliated.

McGonagall is yelling at them when she passes, walking closer to the commotion. Agitha slips back into the hall, shivering as she thinks about Moody's magical blue eye that swirls around in its socket, seeing through everything. She wonders if he saw her watching them and figures he had. "Ew! What's that smell? Oh, it's Agitha," sneers Pansy as the gaggle of Slytherins Pansy hangs around passes her.

Agitha imagines hurting them, whipping out her wand and _making _them scream but quickly dismisses the idea. She'd be expelled. Her parents would be ashamed. Snorting to herself, she turns the corner and bumps hard into someone. She goes sprawling on her butt, legs splayed in an inappropriate manner and mutters curses to herself, rubbing her wrist where it scraped against the stone floor.

"I am very sorry," says a voice, all too familiar and her face burns as she looks into Krum's stone eyes. His face remains passive as he gets to his feet and helps her up. His hand is warm and twice as large as hers.

"I'm sorry," Agitha's voice sounds very soft and her throat burns slightly as she hears Pansy's pig-like snort of a laugh. "Ew! _Why_ are _you_ touching people, you filthy _freak_!" she shrieks. Agitha lowers her head, pretending to smooth down her skirt, and praying they don't say anything about her father.

"Where's daddy now? Oh, I know! Gone! You're too ugly! And then your mum's a nutter!" Pansy shrieks again. "Just like _you!_" Agitha doesn't bother to look up; she just bolts and doesn't stop even long after the fades of the other girls' laughter have died down. Only when she can't hear the noise of the corridors does she stop.

The stitch in her side is like a knife, her lungs ache with each breath, and she's shaking so badly that she can't curl her fingers into fists. _I need a place…just for myself…where no one can disturb me…please…_She paces back and forth several times, her body calming down slowly until she can breathe without aching. She finds herself in front of a delicately carved door and pulls it open slowly; a gasp puffing through her lips when she sees a large dance studio lined with long mirrors and _barre _to hold onto.

A piano is to one side, tucked neatly and plays softly, making her shiver. She walks to the center of the room, cautiously, dropping her bag with a _thunk _on the floor. "What…is this place?" she whispers as she looks around. Twelve Agithas look around, turning around and around as the real Agitha spots a bundle of black. Approaching it slowly, she unfolds the top fabric and finds a leotard with black tights and a pair of black ballet slippers.

With the flick of her wand, she locks the door, strips down to her undergarments and slips into the outfit. As if on cue, music begins to play and she recognizes the haunting violin's vibrato as _Dark Waltz. _Slowly, she begins to dance, all too conscious of the feel of eyes on her but she knows no one is there and she's just paranoid, all too conscious of the feel of eyes on her, but she knows no one is there and she's just being paranoid.

The room is warm and she moves fluidly in the heated air; her legs slicing in a high kick and then lowering as she bends at the waist, a folded princess of ebony. All she can hear is the chilling echoes of the music and her breathing as she gets to her feet, leaps across the room and wheels into a flurry of _pirouette _on _pointe, _her muscles burning slightly.

When she lies down, one leg outstretched with the other tucked under her, arms extended to touch the tip of her foot, she hears loud clapping. The person has strong hands but they aren't aware of how loud it is in the dead quiet.

"Very good. Your left knee is a bit veak," says a voice. Startled, her head snaps up and meets stone eyes.

Viktor Krum is standing there, hands tucked in his pockets and commenting on her ballet.

* * *

_Sacred geometry,_

_Where movement is poetry,_

_Visions of you and me, forever…—_Dark Waltz, Hayley Westenra


	2. Chapter 2

Act 2

_Perturbation tranquille_

* * *

HER FACE FEELS like it's on fire as she quickly scrambles to her feet. She wants to ask him how he found her but, seeing the look in his storm-colored eyes, decides against it.

"My mum isn't a nutter," she says sharply and loudly to fill the long silence as she dresses. Krum faces the piano, his calloused hands trailing over the smooth, polished grains. "I did not say anything of the sort," he replies calmly.

Agitha tugs on her skirt, sucking in as she pulls up the fly; adjusting the fabric and wishing it were longer. "But you were wondering," she snaps as she rolls on her knee-highs, wrinkling her nose at the way her skin bulges near the top. It's only when she's pulling on her blazer does he answer.

"No."

The answer is short, quick and full of shit. Her eyes narrow as she brushes off her blouse. "Why are you here?"

"I'm not sure," he tells her with the flick of his wrist, moving hair out of his eyes. His profile is all planes and sharp angles, too pretty to be real. "I heard music. I followed it."

There's something in his tone that makes her a bit uneasy and disbelieving. "I have to go," she tells him and turns on her heel, slinking away like a defeated dog with her tail between her legs. She slumps to the hallway and turns to the door; much to her surprise, the door is gone and there is nothing but cold, wet brick staring back at her.

She's walking just beside Filch's door when it bursts open, making her shriek. Mrs. Norris eyeballs Agitha from the floor and mewls loudly at her; yellow slits for eyes. Not far behind, Filch appears, wearing a thick grey scarf with his nose red and his eyes watery. "Good evening—I think it's evening—"

"What're ya' doin' down here?" he barks in a congested voice. "I needed to get away from the noise of the corridor; needed a bit of alone time," she lies smoothly, gazing behind his broad shoulder at the darkness creeping in. She wonders if that idiot Quidditch player is still in there.

"Alone time?"

"Yes. I was feeling a bit…what's the word…crowded so I slipped into here and sat and read."

"Read what?"

She digs in her bag, black nails glistening against book spines. "_Romeo and Juliet _by William Shakespeare. He's an excellent Muggle writer."

Filch adjusts the scarf with his strong, large hands, his dark eyes reflecting the torchlight in his pupils. "Muggle?" He coughs once as though he has pneumonia, and he shifts his weight to favor his left leg. "Yes! I love their books! Our books are always about the same thing: _magic. _But Muggle books are all sorts; romance, murder, scandal, biographies and they also have paranormal books."

"Paranormal?—"

"Werewolves. Vampires. Witches. Wizards. Most of them are racy—" she chokes on her laughter "—romance novels written by sex-deprived women."

Filch coughs again, leans against the wall and watches her. His gaze is prickling like the warmth of a fire that's too close to her skin.

"Damn brats. They always make messes for me to clean," Filch says in a raspy croak when Mrs. Norris mewls loudly and darts off, which he then slinks after the old cat. "Have a good night and hope you feel better, Mr. Filch!" Agitha yells after him and she sees the wave of his hand before he vanishes around the corner.

She gets to her feet and shuffles slowly to dinner. Potter and Weasley are laughing entirely too loudly, the twin Weasleys smirking as Longbottom squeaks loudly and declines a tart. "Suit yourself," says one of the twins, Fred or George she can never tell, as Agitha walks passed them. "Do I smell a Mudblood?" sneers Malfoy when she passes. "Maybe you and Granger should get buddy-buddy; only _purebloods _are allowed in Slytherin," he says.

"You think you're so tough just because your daddy's rich, Malfoy. You're nothing but a weak, slimy little weasel that can't even walk by himself without his thugs. Afraid someone's gonna attack you, prat? Daddy's influences mean _nothing _to me," she says in a dangerous voice. His face turns reddish-purple and his hand flies out.

His swing stops mid-swing and he stumbles. His face turns pink as he hurries out with Goyle and Crabbe in his wake, Pansy holding Malfoy's thin, pale hand. Agitha laughs to herself and sink into the background as whispers break out and kids stare at her openly. She's always felt their gaze on her, a Half-blood in Slytherin, one from a middle-class family of a Thai restaurant owner, completely and utterly below everyone in her House, is sure to attract attention. That, and the fact that she's probably the only dark-skinned Slytherin right now.

Agitha slips away during the middle of dinner, sticking to the shadows and avoiding everyone's eyes. _They can't see me if I stay in the shadows, _she thinks to herself and hides in the dark shades of the shadows, smiling to herself. She's just rounded the corner when she crashes into someone, spilling their books and her things. Strong arms cage her against a hard chest as they fall to the floor, the boy taking the fall really as she lay atop of him.

Blushing softly, she raises her head to thank the boy. There's a lot of chaos from Peeves and then she hears Filch screaming at the poltergeist angrily, the time of which she takes to collect her mangled thoughts and straighten herself on top of his stomach. She's glad, for once, for her fat, mile-wide thighs so he can't see up her skirt. If she was pretty like Cho Chang or Lavender Brown, she wouldn't have minded a guy like him looking at her but she's about 30 pounds heavier than Lavender and uglier than a gnome.

"Thank you," she says finally after realizing he's been talking to her this entire time. He sits up, his face too close to hers for her to be comfortable, and she sits back, squeezing her thighs together, feeling that fat on them jiggle disgustingly, when he places a hand on her hip.

There's a welt on his wide forehead the size of a Robin egg that makes her nervous. His slate-colored eyes stare at her, his mouth turned into a thin line and she realizes how heavy she must be. She makes a move to stand up but he clamps down harder on her hip.

"Good evening, Agitha Rattlestone."

Viktor Krum gives her a look that makes her shiver. "You should be careful of vhom you run into. Many boys would take advantage of you." She snorts. "As if. Boys go for girls who look like Lavender Brown, not filthy Mudbloods with rolls of fat and ugly skin," she says and stands up. Her books have spilled across the floor but nothing seems torn. She's picking up her Charms book when a hand touches her back.

"Allow me," Krum says and her books fly into her bag with a flick of his wrist. "I don't think you're ugly at all, nor do I think that you are fat," he tells her after a moment and his eyes drift over her shoulder as he places a hand on her shoulder. "I beg to differ, Krum," she snaps sharply and stalks away, ignoring his calls of her name.

She doesn't stop moving until she gets to her dorm and sinks into a hot bath. Waving bubbles around the room, her mind drifts away and she relaxes for a while. While dressing, she stands in front of mirror and tries to see what Krum saw in her; all she has are scars, fat and stretch marks. No flat tummy or long, glossy legs that run for miles, no perky breasts or toned butt; no, she is not a model and will never be.

As she crawls into bed, she can't help but hear his voice.

_I don't think you're ugly at all, nor do I think that you are fat._

* * *

_The coolest girl on the face of the planet,_

_The coolest bitch on earth, god-dammit!_

_The coolest chick you've ever seen or heard!_

_So you can try to bring me down,_

_But sorry guys, I'm stickin' around!_—A Very Potter Musical, _The Coolest Girl_


End file.
